Sam
by valeriange
Summary: Jack knew Sam was on his side, no matter what. What he couldn't figure out was why.


"Speaking not as a prophet, but as a scientist, I don't think teaching him is in the cards." Jack felt a sinking feeling flood through him, one he could pin from his mother's memories as feeling unwanted. He saw Sam's expression twist as Donatello continued "It's like asking a lion not to be a lion."

Sam snapped, "But he's not a lion. He's a human!"

"With a strong dose of God-juice," Donatello replied.

"Okay," said Dean, before Sam had a chance to retort once again. "That's it. I'm done, alright. Cause he's not God, he's not Cas, he's not Simba, he's the freaking devil!"

Jack didn't stay to hear the rest of the Winchesters' conversation with Donatello. He felt as though his chest was caving in under the pummel of dark emotions. He could faintly recall wishing he was away, leaving the hotel room with Donatello and Dean and Sam behind. He couldn't breathe properly. He couldn't think.

It was easier, outside the walls of the hotel. The cold night air brought him back. There was no one out here to cast him the sort of looks Dean gave him, or the odd and curious ones Donatello gave him. He drew in a long breath as he sat down on a red basket, his back leaning against the cold bricks.

His mother had been wrong. She had been wrong. His father had been wrong. They had all been wrong. Maybe Dean saw the truth. Donatello saw it too. Maybe his mother and his father had been blinded by human emotions, while Dean had no such bias. It wasn't as if Jack could ask either of them if they still thought he was so good now that he was actually here – both of them were long gone, destroyed in the mess that followed Jack.

And Sam? What was Jack supposed to do about him? He cared for Jack – he must; he defended Jack against his own brother, and Jack could sense, could see, how close they were to each other. He meant something to Sam, but what? Was he some experiment? Some way of finding out more about Nephilim and powers?

Sam and his brother were one and the same. They operated as a unit. If Dean was against Jack, Sam had to be as well.

Jack felt like an angel blade had pierced through his chest all over again. This pain didn't go away though. He wasn't healing from it.

"Jack… Jack?"

Sam.

Jack couldn't look at him. He buried his face in his arms.

"Hey, bud, we've been looking for you," Sam said. His voice was soft, and open, and Jack could only think that someone who spoke like that to him surely couldn't hate him.

He uncrossed his legs. "I'm sorry I… Everyone was so angry," he said quietly.

Sam told him he was special for teleporting, that his skills were special, and that he was a danger too, because he could hurt people. Jack didn't care much about the last part, not when Sam's earlier words felt like they had taken his bruised little heart out of his throat, patched it up, and placed it back in his chest. Sam picked up another basket and flipped it, sitting it beside Jack's and falling down beside him. Jack still couldn't look at him, not without seeing Dean again, his piercing green glare.

"Do you hate me?" Jack asked him.

Sam looked saddened after Jack said that, and he regretted it a bit because of it, but he had to know. Sam wouldn't lie to him, right? "No," Sam said, his voice still soft. "No, Jack, I don't hate you."

"But Dean does," Jack stated.

Sam winced. "Dean doesn't hate you," Sam said. "He's just… grieving."

"For my father."

"For Castiel," Sam agreed. "He just needs some time to work through it."

"And Donatello?" Jack said.

Sam made a disgruntled noise. "Don't get me started," he said.

His voice was lighter now. That made Jack smile. When Sam turned his head to look at him again, he smiled as well. He had a brilliant smile. Jack's heart was doing something odd in his chest, beating faster than before, and he felt like he weighed ten pounds lighter. Sam was good for him.

"Why do you do it?" Jack asked. "Defend me? I'm not your brother, not Dean. Why do you argue with him over me?"

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Because you're… you're special, Jack."

"Yeah, you already said that."

"You're special, to me," Sam said. He looked like the words hurt him to force out.

Jack's brow creased. "I don't know what that means," he said.

Sam looked like he was going to bite a hole through his lip. As Jack was preparing to ask another question, another version of _why_ , Sam leaned in. Jack stilled, not sure what to anticipate, and then Sam's lips connected with his.

It felt good. Great, actually. Amazing. He closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth radiating off Sam's body. He was so close, his form twisted toward Jack, one hand gripping the basket less than an inch away from Jack's leg. It would be so easy to touch more of him, to move in and… and kiss him back, better.

Sam pulled away suddenly, and not a second later, he was hurriedly saying, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I—"

"You should do that again," Jack murmured.

Sam looked at him like he wasn't sure he heard him right. "What?"

"You… kissed me," Jack said slowly, and Sam nodded. "Why did you stop?"

Sam gave a nervous chuckle. "My brother is back in our room talking about whether or not it would be ethical to put you down, and I come out here and kiss you. It's…" Sam just shook his head.

"He won't be able to," Jack noted. Sam stopped, and Jack said, "He won't be able to, if he knows it might hurt you."

Sam seemed a bit taken aback by that, but then his tense expression faded and he said, "Yeah. He wouldn't."

There wasn't much else to be said at that moment. Jack watched as Sam turned his head to face the ground, his hands coming together in his lap. Jack didn't need to be able to sense anything about Sam, because from his expression alone, he could see Sam's mind beginning to overwork itself. Just like his had.

He leaned in this time, gently pressing his lips against Sam's, the same way Sam had done to him. He felt Sam tense, and then that same tension melted out of his body. One of Sam's hands rose up to cup his cheek. The cold night air didn't feel so cold, not when Sam was kissing him back.

He wouldn't need to worry about Dean. Not when he had Sam.


End file.
